


we shared nothing but storm

by ohlawsons



Series: it's not a day for heroes [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-20 03:49:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10654296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohlawsons/pseuds/ohlawsons
Summary: One shots and ficlets set in my canon worldstate, covering everything from shippy moments to backstory to some much needed downtime for our weary heroes.





	1. What Magic Has Touched 01 [Trevelyan]

**Author's Note:**

> Just backing up some tumblr fic, for the moment. These all fall within the canon for the rest of the "it's not a day for heroes" series, which I'm slowly, _slowly_ writing out. 
> 
> Characters and pairings will be noted at the beginning of each chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "what magic has touched" or aubrie's villian backstory
> 
> Set when aubrie is around seven years old

“ _Ma-bar-iiiiiiii_ ,” Aubrie stressed, waving the hound doll in front of her younger sister. Adelaide simply stared back with her big, round eyes, entirely still for a moment before reaching for the mabari doll with her pudgy hands.

“Puppy,” she insisted, her voice a shrill whine.

Hiding the mabari behind her back, Aubrie stubbornly shook her head. “It’s a mabari, Addy. Say it. Mabari!”

At the doll’s disappearance, Adelaide burst into tears; Aubrie shoved the doll into her sister’s hands, moving to hug her and do all she could to placate the now-shrieking three year old. The governess’ room was right next to theirs, and the last thing Aubrie needed was for her to come in and see that her pupil hadn’t been working on the reading she should have been doing.

As Adelaide’s cries softened to whimpers and then quiet, contented cooing as she played with the mabari doll, Aubrie heard her mother’s quiet voice drift down the hall outside their door.

“– _have_ to. We could find a tutor this time, couldn’t we?”

“We can’t risk it,” was her father’s reply. “You _know_ this is what we have to do.”

As their voices and footsteps grew nearer, Aubrie left Adelaide with the mabari and scrambled to her feet, launching herself onto her bed and flipping her book open to a random page. Pretending to be immersed in her reading, she barely glanced up when her parents entered the room.

“Aubrie, sweetheart,” Lady Trevelyan called from the doorway, “we need to talk about your magic.”

“I’ve been careful about it,” Aubrie promised, making a show of bookmarking her place.

“We know. And… we just thought you’d like to be able to– to learn to control it properly.” Her father beckoned for her to follow him into the front hall. “There are people who can do that.”

As Aubrie slid off her bed and padded after her parents, she asked, “Like a school?”

Her mother gave a small _hmph_. “That’s _one_ way to put it, I suppose.”

They entered the front room and were met by a tall woman clad in thick armor with a flaming sword emblazoned on her chest. “Greetings, Aubrie,” she offered with a slight bow. “I’m Ser Walton, and you’ll be accompanying me to the Circle.” The knight’s voice was heavy with a Starkhaven accent, prominent enough that even Aubrie could pick up on it.

“Where’s the Circle?” she asked, taking a step to the side to hide behind her father.

“They’re all over,” Walton answered. “We’ll be going to the one in Starkhaven. Now come on,” she urged, “and don’t worry about bringing anything. It’s not a long trip and we’ll take care of everything at the Circle.”

“Go on,” her father prodded, taking Aubrie by the wrist and leading her over to the knight. “You’ll be fine, and they’ll teach you all about magic.”

Aubrie slowly followed the strange woman, wondering if she’d be home in time to finish her reading so her governess didn’t get angry with her. “Tell Addy to take care of the mabari,” she called, repeating herself until her mother finally nodded and promised she would.

As the door to the Trevelyan estate closed, Lady Trevelyan turned to her husband. “Maker forbid we lose a _third_ child to magic. What have we done to _deserve_ this?”

 


	2. What Magic Has Touched 02 [Trevelyan]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set when aubrie is 14

“You wanted to see me, First Enchanter?”

“Ah, yes, Aubrie. Come in.” The First Enchanter motioned for Aubrie to enter his office, searching through the papers on his desk until he found a neatly folded letter, which he passed to the young apprentice. “A letter came in from your parents the other morning. It seems they wish for you to attend their winter salon, and they have just enough pull to arrange for you to leave.”

Aubrie’s eyes widened. She’d been in the Circle for nearly seven years, and never once had heard from her parents. Or, if she had, the Templars had never deemed it fit to let her know. _But she could see them again! She could see her sister!_

“You’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, first thing. Ser Walton will accompany you.” He looked up, pausing until Aubrie’s eyes connected with his. “No magic will be tolerated. If you attempt _anything_ , Ser Walton has full authorization to impede your abilities and use physical force to escort you back to the Circle.” In a quieter, more sympathetic voice, the enchanter added, “For a mage to leave the Circle is a rare event. It makes the Templars nervous; use this opportunity to show them they don’t need to be.”

Nodding fervently, Aubrie rocked back on her heels and wrung her hands together. “And… my studies?”

“You’ll have to catch up when you return.”

“Of course.” Barely able to contain her excitement, Aubrie rushed back to the apprentice dormitories, wishing she had enough belongings to pack.

_I get to see my family again!_

“I paid extra for a whore with magic, once. Heard there was some sort of… electricity trick.”

Eyes wide and cheeks burning, Aubrie pulled away from the man – a comte from Kirkwall whose name she’d already forgotten – and hurried back to the safety of the ballroom.

She remembered the winter salon being _magnificent_ , full of fascinating people and wonderful music and exotic dances. But this year, people either gaped at her as if she had grown a second head or prodded her with annoying (and sometimes rather embarrassing) questions. 

Really, Aubrie figured she should’ve expected as much, with the way her mother had greeted her – stiffly refusing a hug and lamenting that all her etiquette training had been wasted, then revealing that Adelaide was at a _different_ party, to avoid her reputation being spoiled by her sister’s magic. 

 _There have been questions_ , Lady Trevelyan had explained. _Doubts about the Trevelyan name, if magic was going to ruin our line_.

They hadn’t wanted to see her. They hadn’t asked her to come out of love, but out of wounded _pride_.

And all evening, Aubrie had done everything they’d asked – she’d sat through the ridiculous makeup and hairstyles that her mother insisted on her wearing, tried on dress after dress until they found one that fit, a garish Orlesian-style gown in the Trevelyan colors and accented with far too much gold embroidery. She’d memorized names and houses and positions and greeted comtes and arls and various Chantry men and women.

Yet somehow, Lady Trevelyan didn’t seem satisfied. Aubrie hadn’t seen her father all evening – she’d only seen him once since arriving, and that was only long enough for him to squint at her until he recognized he was staring at his own daughter.

Before the dancing had even started, Aubrie decided she’d had enough. Leaving her (rather uncomfortable) shoes in a corner, she bunched up her skirt and marched over to where Ser Walton was standing watch.

“I’m ready to leave,” she informed the Templar.

The older woman hesitated. “The Trevelyans arranged for you to leave tomo–”

“I’m ready to leave,” Aubrie repeated. “If you like, I can use magic, then you’ll be obligated to take me back to the Circle.”

Walton sighed. “Please, don’t. I’ll go speak with Lady Trevelyan.”

Crossing her arms, Aubrie waited for the Templar to return. She’d been told everything there was too hear about magic – it was a sin, a stain upon the Maker’s creation, something to be terrified of, a power too dangerous and volatile for anyone to possess without being constantly watched.

But tonight, at the salon, she’d heard something very different. Magic was a weakness, something that held good people back. So far, they’d been mostly correct; Aubrie _had_ been held back, and both rebelling in the Circle and quietly complying with the Templars had only created some sort of trouble for her.

She couldn’t rise to power _outside_ of the Circle, no. But she _could_ fight her way to the top of the Circle.

 


	3. What Magic Has Touched 03 [Trevelyan]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during inquisition, after "here lies the abyss" and "wicked hearts"
> 
> apologies for the "ending," but i wrote this over two years ago and even though i had plans for this, they never got written.

“Inquisitor, please.”  
  
"I’m afraid I must apologize, Josie. It’s my fault.”  
  
Aubrie looked up at her advisers, clearing her throat. “I’m sorry, what?”  
  
“Our dear inquisitor was… otherwise occupied this morning,” Leliana continued. “It seems I shouldn’t have interrupted.”  
  
From the other side of the war table, Josephine shot Aubrie a _We’ll talk later look_ , one that guaranteed plenty of gossip about the Inquisitor’s love life over tea later. “The mages,” she said, in a tone that suggested she’d already repeated herself a half dozen times. “Most have either disappeared entirely or joined with the Inquisition after what happened at Redcliffe, but a small group in the Hinterlands is asking for you personally.”  
  
Pointing to a small area on the map, Cullen added, “They’ve been attacking our soldiers around this road for the past few weeks. Mostly, we’ve been trying to get Leliana’s people to find out more about them, but…”  
  
“They killed them, too,” Aubrie guessed. “Why not just send in some soldiers to take care of it?”

“We could,” Josephine admitted. “Or we could… investigate. They could be potential allies.”

Leliana cleared her throat. “We’ve been _investigating_ for weeks. We’ve gained nothing but dead agents, until they approached our spies and asked for the Inquisitor herself. They _know_ we’re watching them,” she emphasized. “I believe that they only way to find out more is for Lady Trevelyan to meet them.”

Staring down at the markers on the map, Aubrie asked, “Alone, I assume?”

“They didn’t specify,” Cullen informed her. “I would suggest taking a small group with you, and we can have backup waiting nearby.”

“Good. Get your men ready, and I’ll head over to the Hinterlands.”

“Ah, if it isn’t the _Herald_ herself.”

Aubrie grimaced, but said nothing. Motioning for Blackwall, Cassandra, and Sera to stay put, she took a few steps forward so she could see the apostate clearly. “You’ve been attacking my soldiers and demanding to speak to me. Here I am,” she called, gesturing to herself, “so speak.”

The apostate leaned on his staff, grinning. “No, I haven’t been asking for you. But I can take you to the man who _is_.” He cocked his head to the side, motioning for them to follow deeper into the cave. “He’s been watching you for a long time, Inquisitor,” the apostate drawled. “There was no reason for us to get your attention until you went off to Orlais and made all those alliances – you offered assistance to dukes and comtesses that claim to be related to you, so why not make allies who are a bit… closer to home?”

“I don’t like this,” Sera whispered loudly, inching closer to Aubrie as they descended further into the cave. “It’s _creepy_ down here.”

“It _is_ strange,” Cassandra agreed. “These mages should be under the protection of either the Chantry or the Inquisition. There’s no reason–”

“Not _that_ ,” Sera interrupted. “I mean the creepy mages, staring at us from all over.”

Grip tightening on her staff, Aubrie glanced over her shoulder just long enough to tell them to quiet down. They’d reached the back of the cave, where at least a dozen mages sat around a campfire. One stood, a tall man with ragged, dark brown hair that matched Aubrie’s. “You’re the one who’s asked for me?” she guessed.

The man said nothing, crossing his arms and scrutinizing the Inquisitor. After a moment, he nodded. “You’re taller than I remember,” he shrugged, before chuckling quietly to himself. “Name’s Riley. I spent a few years over at the Starkhaven Circle, ‘til you came along. Then, they transferred me. Know where?”

Aubrie said nothing, eyes searching the man. He seemed _familiar_ , but she couldn’t quite place why.

“Fucking _Kirkwall_ ,” he spat. “We–” Riley gestured to the gathered mages in the cave, “–are all from Kirkwall. When that self-righteous _champion_ tore that city apart, we had no where to go but the wilderness.”

“The Inquisition has already offered you shelter and protection,” Aubrie reminded him.

“We don’t want your _protection_ ,” he sneered. “We want to be left _alone_. It doesn’t matter if we’re back in that shit hole in Kirkwall, or if I ever go back to Starkhaven, or if we go to that big dame _castle_ you’re living in. We’re prisoners, wherever we go. There’ll be templars. We’ll be _watched_.”

Again, Aubrie said nothing. So far, the entire trip had been a waste; these mages weren’t worth dealing with. She turned, motioning for her companions to lead the way out. “Attack my people again and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

“ _Typical_ ,” he called out. “Walking out, never looking back, and pretending I don’t exist – just like Mother and Father. Must run in the Trevelyan blood.” Riley paused to chuckle. “What a nice way to treat your fucking _brother_.”

He paused again, and the concern etched into Blackwall’s brow was enough for Aubrie to know that her anger and disbelief shone clearly on her face. “I don’t _have_ a brother,” she enunciated, breathing slowly.

“Of course they never talked about me. Magic’s such a shame, isn’t it?”

“Aubrie–”

She shook her head, cutting off whatever comfort Blackwall was prepared to offer. “Cassandra, signal Cullen’s men. I want these mages taken to the nearest operational Circle. But make sure that _bastard_ goes straight to Skyhold’s prisons.” Aubrie marched outside of the cave, old anger and even older memories making her heart race.

“He’s full of it, yeah? I mean, you’d _know_ if you’d had a brother. And even if you didn’t know, you’d just _know_. Right?”

Aubrie gritted her teeth, waiting until Cassandra was talking to one of Cullen’s soldiers before she answered Sera. “That’s the thing. I _don’t_ know. If anyone wanted to keep something like that a secret, my mother–” Her words cut of sharply. “She would. She _tried_ , when I was sent off to the Circle, but I’d been to too many parties. Knew too many people. I already had a _husband_ picked out for me, for Andraste’s sake. There wasn’t any hiding me.”

Sera plopped down on a nearby rock. “Wish I’d known you – then. I could get her back for you, make her and everyone else remember you. Also for the husband.”

Eyes still trained on Cassandra and the now-approaching soldiers, Aubrie sighed. “Thanks, Sera. I don’t think it would’ve helped, but thank you.” After a moment she added, unthinking, “I never minded the husband thing.”

Sera glanced up at Aubrie, eyes wide and grin wider. She slowly turned from Aubrie to Blackwall and back, then erupted into laughter.

“Cut it out.” Despite the flush of heat on her cheeks, Aubrie was glad for the momentary distraction; almost as soon as Sera finished laughing, the captain of the soldiers approached the Inquisitor.

“Your worship,” he greeted her, moving aside to make way for a second soldier, who held Riley in a too-tight grip. The mage was unsteady on his feet, and a thick smear of blood ran across his nose and left cheek. “We don’t have the manpower to escort all the mages, but we’ll keep an eye on them until some of the Inquisition’s templars arrive. Lady Cassandra said you wanted this one taken to Skyhold?”

“Yes. And I want him there _before_ I return.” As the soldiers marched off, Aubrie grabbed her staff and motioned for her companions to follow, headed straight for Skyhold.

 


	4. Fading Away [Amell/Alistair]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt for olivia/alistair, post-game: _fading away_

Everyone could see it.

After the Kirkwall reports came in, Olivia _changed_. She still made her rounds through the Keep each day, and accompanied the other mages in the training yard every evening, and was present for almost every meal, but now, she was _alone_ – Alistair no longer accompanied her through the halls or in the courtyard or in the dining hall.

Everyone saw their separation. No one saw when they were together.

In Olivia’s office, or in their bedroom, they avoided each others’ gaze, stepped around each other, didn’t even bother with greetings or goodbyes. There hadn’t been any one moment when they’d stopped speaking to each other; it had begun with the reports, and Olivia’s insistence that they help Anders, but it had taken weeks afterwards for their relationship to simply _unravel_.

And when the Inquisition called upon the Wardens for assistance, Olivia rode off alone.

 


	5. 05 [Amell/Alistair]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post "here lies the abyss"
> 
> this is no longer canon for this worldstate, but hey! angst is always fun.

“She visited me once in Kirkwall. She… This will hit her hard.”

Varric gave a quiet, cold laugh. “ _I_ could’ve guessed that, Hawke.” The bar returned to silence, Marian and Varric both focused on their mugs and Leliana staring blankly at the counter.

“She needs to know,” the Spymaster finally sighed. “I will send a letter tomorrow. My spies can reach her within a week.”

Taking a long swig of her ale, Marian shook her head. “Let me write the letter. We’re family, and… I owe her this, at least.”

* * *

 

Two letters arrived for the former Warden Commander, both delivered by a courier as she passed through a small town in northern Ferelden. One bore the official seal of the Inquisition – though it was Marian’s handwriting on the envelope – and the other offered no hint as to who sent it, save Morrigan’s elegant script addressing it to Olivia.

Once she’d set up a proper camp – no more than a small tent and an even smaller fire – Olivia pulled out the letters. She couldn’t think of any reason that the Inquisition would need her assistance, not after the message she’d already sent and the letters from Alistair saying that he’d been helping out Inquisitor Trevelyan.

But Morrigan’s letter confused her even more. It had been years since Olivia had heard from her, and the fact that she was sending a letter _now_ didn’t bode well.

 _Dearest friend,_ the letter began, _it’s been far too long since we’ve seen each other, though I’m certain you understand why I’ve been in hiding. As I’m sure you’re aware, Alistair has been working with both the Champion and the Inquisitor. What you may not know is the nature of their work._

A sudden sense of dread filled Olivia’s chest and she glanced at the letter on the other end of her bedroll. She still had Alistair’s last letter tucked into her pocket; he’d fondly described the beauty of Crestwood, joking how the presence of undead reminded him of the Blight and downplaying the various attempts on his life by other Wardens.

Morrigan, she realized, was right. Olivia knew very little of what Alistair and Marian had been investigating, though she’d been brushing that off as they seemed to have little sense of it, either. For a moment, she wondered if they _had_ known, and simply hadn’t wanted her to know; it would be _exactly_ like Alistair, Olivia thought with a smile, to not want to worry her. But to leave her entirely in the dark was uncommon. Wanting more than ever to be reunited with him, Olivia continued with Morrigan’s letter.

_You have no doubt also begun feeling the symptoms of the Calling. According to Hawke, Alistair heard the call of the darkspawn. I can only hope that the resilience to the darkspawn you showed during the Blight continues to grace you._

_You have also undoubtedly heard of the darkspawn magister Hawke faced some years ago, Corypheus, and that he has returned, seemingly from the dead. Alistair, Hawke, and the Inquisitor discovered that Corypheus was somehow manipulating the Wardens into hearing the Calling, and in searching further, were thrown into the Fade by some phenomenon caused by the Inquisitor’s mark._

_I’m sorry to say, Olivia, that while Hawke and the Inquisitor gained much from their trip into the Fade, Alistair did not make it out. Hawke assures me it was a rather brave act, and even I cannot find fault in his actions._

Olivia stared at the remainder of the letter blankly, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. Her chest was heavy, and her breaths came continually more quickly. Slowly, mechanically, she set the letter aside and pulled out the last letter Alistair had sent, her eyes scanning the words over and over until the reality set in.

Clutching her knees to her chest, Olivia buried her face and cried, _truly_ cried, for the first time since the Blight, when she’d been a mess of tears and relief after slaying the archdemon and surviving.

When her throat burned and her head throbbed, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and folded up Morrigan’s letter, choking back more tears as she tucked it into her pack. In the dim firelight, she could just make out Alistair’s words on his letter.

She read them over and over again that night, always lingering on the parting line.

_You have no idea how much I love and miss you. As soon as the Inquisition figures this all out, I’ll be back and we can get away from all this world saving nonsense._

_I’ll see you soon,_

_Alistair_

 


	6. Slip Away [Amell/Alistair, Hawke/Fenris]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set during "here lies the abyss"
> 
> olivia and fenris stay behind in skyhold while marian and alistair are out at adamant.

Olivia sat at the edge of the large double bed, fingers twisting into the silky sheets. This had been easier when she was alone in a tent, with only the quiet night wind for company.

Now, she had a sense of just how _empty_ everything was. Their was too much space in the room, too much in the bed. Even with her mabari curled up at the far side of the bed, it felt too empty.

Tugging on her cloak, Olivia gently scratched Lily’s head, letting the hound know she was leaving. Lily whimpered and nudged at her master’s hand with her greying muzzle, but remained on the bed. Moving as quietly as she could, Olivia slipped out of her bedroom and onto the wide Skyhold battlements.

Outside, it was easier to be alone. There was still noise, voices coming from the refugee camps and the tavern, sounds of horses and harts and other creatures coming from the stables, and occasionally the sound of clattering swords when restless guards sparred to keep awake through the night watch.

Keeping her hood draped over her head, Olivia took slow, even steps along the walls; the mountain winds were crisp, and without her Warden robes she soon found herself shivering. Pulling the cloak tighter around her, Olivia stopped for a moment, leaning against the battlements and staring out across the snow covered mountains.

She wasn’t even supposed to be at Skyhold. But the nightmares and the singing – the dreaded Calling that had lent a renewed importance to her mission – had ceased. It was – or, it should have been – impossible, and the only Warden Olivia had been certain she could find was Alistair.

Or, so she’d thought.

He was no longer at Skyhold, but far across Orlais assaulting a Grey Warden fortress. The news, especially once combined with everything else the inquisition had revealed, unsettled Olivia almost as much as the Calling had.

She missed him. They had spent too much time uncertain to waste what they had left, and yet the days seemed to be slipping away even faster now that they were apart again.

“Warden Amell.”

Olivia turned with a start, having been too lost in thought to hear the footsteps. Though he wore a hooded cloak as she did, Olivia recognized Fenris’ voice immediately. “You startled me,” she admitted, tugging her hood down. They hadn’t spoken in quite some time – not since the war had broken out, and Olivia had done what she could to find a safe place for her cousin to hide.

“I apologize.” He joined her at the battlements, mossy eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Trouble sleeping?”

“More than usual.”

Fenris remained silent for a moment, lips curled into the faintest frown. “They’re in good company,” he finally spoke, though Olivia wasn’t certain if he was trying to convince her or himself. “The Inquisitor and her companions are… capable, if nothing else.”

Olivia wasn’t sure exactly how long Fenris had been in Skyhold, but she assumed it was just as long as Marian had been. She herself had only met one of the Inquisitors companions – besides Varric, that is – and had been intimidated but not necessarily impressed by the qunari mercenary. “You don’t think highly of them?”

He grunted. “Some of them.”

Neither of them being particularly adept at small talk, they fell into an uneasy silence. Olivia was acutely aware of Fenris’ presence, despite the respectful distance he was keeping; she had traveled alone for so long that she couldn’t help but feel wary in close company. She was just about to excuse herself back to her bedroom when the yelling broke out across Skyhold, and the telltale sound of the front gates being opened echoed across the courtyard.

A mounted messenger tore through the lower level of Skyhold, his horse stumbling to a stop in front of the stairway. Convinced such urgent news _had_ to be from Adamant, Olivia shared a quick glance with Fenris before the pair headed for the main hall.

Olivia burst through the door before Fenris, nearly running into Leliana. The Spymaster was still in her nightclothes, though her eyes were as alert as ever. She glanced up at Olivia, then continued reading the report she held.

“That’s impossible,” she barked.

“It’s true,” the messenger panted. “Straight from Commander Cullen. He saw it.”

Leliana scanned the report again. “It _cannot_ be done.” She waved her hand at the messenger, dismissing him. Looking up at Olivia, she sighed. “How much do you know about physically entering the Fade?”

 


	7. Eternity [Hawke/Fenris]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from tumblr: eternity

Fenris was a light sleeper.

Such a light sleeper, in fact, that Hawke considered it a little victory whenever she managed to wake up before him. It was always strange–waking up on mornings like this, with Fenris’ still form curled up on the other side of the bed. Whenever Hawke did manage to catch him sleeping, he was always in the same position, far from her and taking up as little space as possible. She didn’t mind, though; when morning came, that empty space between them didn’t last long.

Carefully, Hawke propped herself up onto her elbows and leaned towards Fenris, her eyes tracing the lyrium lines and the scars and every inch of bare skin. Moving slowly, she reached over and flicked an errant lock of hair out of his face, smiling because after everything–the arguments, the waiting, the uncertainty–there was no better feeling than waking up beside this one stupid, infuriating, _perfect_ elf.

Fingers locked around Hawke’s wrist, pulling her from her thoughts. Fenris smiled up at her, his green eyes playful. “Good morning.”

“Isn’t it?”

He chuckled, a sound she was quickly becoming accustomed to, and he released his grip on her wrist, his fingers moving to intertwine with hers.

“Let’s just stay here,” Hawke suggested lightly. “We’ll never leave–just let the city crumble without its Champion.” There would always be more templars, or more mages, but mornings like this were rare, and Hawke wanted to make it last.

 


	8. Shivers [Hawke/Fenris]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from tumblr: one borrowing the other's clothes

Hawke awoke with a sneeze.

_This is why we usually stay at_ my _estate_ , she thought sourly, trying to hold back another sneeze so she didn’t wake Fenris. The combination of dust, cobwebs, and _souvenirs_ from their adventures made his mansion a tad bit less welcoming than the Hawke Estate.

But they hadn’t been able to make it all the way to the Hawke Estate the night before. The fact that Hawke had spent most of her time either out with Anders or helping out at the clinic the past week, combined with a _bit_ too much alcohol meant that Hawke gladly spent the night at the mansion.

She pushed herself up, shivering in the cool morning air, and glanced around the bedroom. Her pants were nowhere to be found, and she was _fairly_ certain her tunic was by the front door. Fenris was still sleeping, and Hawke didn’t feel like disturbing him with how peaceful he seemed, so she slid out of bed and made her way over to the chest that held Fenris’ clothes.

There wasn’t much in the chest, but Hawke happened to know exactly where a certain black silk house robe was. She had just slid into the robe when she heard Fenris chuckle from behind her.

“You’re awake?” she asked, crossing the room to sit beside him on the bed. She planted a kiss on his forehead and admitted, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You should have.” With a grin, he pulled her into a kiss, one hand pressed tight on the small of her back and the other enveloping Hawke’s own hands, slender fingers entwining.

When Hawke pulled back for a breath, she moved so she was straddling him, letting her forehead rest against Fenris’. “I have plans for today,” she informed him breathlessly.

“Anders can wait,” he shot back, his cold fingers running over Hawke’s skin and eliciting another shiver.

Already tugging at the robe’s tie, she agreed, “Anders can wait.”

 


	9. Gifts [Hawke/Fenris]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from tumblr: what makes you happy?

“So… did you _really_ like that blade I found for you?”

Fenris glanced up from the book he was reading, giving a little nod before returning to the book.

From where she was sprawled out on the rug in front of the fire, Marian could just barely make out the title of the book in Fenris’ hands. Smiling a little, she asked, “And that’s the book I got you a few years back, right? The one that started the reading lessons in the first place?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized almost immediately. “I’m distracting you, aren’t I?”

He glanced up again and smirked. “Yes.”

Silently, Marian stood and joined Fenris on the couch, letting her head rest lightly on his shoulder. “I wish I could get a _real_ gift,” she sighed. “Something that’s not just… convenient. Something that you _want –_ something to make you happy.”

Fenris didn’t look up, but the same smirk played on the edge of his lips. The two of them sat in silence for a moment, and when Fenris spoke, his voice was unusually quiet and uncertain. “There’s _you_.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“What do you mean, _me_?” Marian asked, still hesitant to draw her own conclusions.

“I mean _you_ –” Fenris trailed off, glaring at the book in his hands. “ _You_ make me happy.”

Keeping her voice as light as possible, Marian joked, “It’s hard to tell, with the way you’re scowling at that poor book.”

“Perhaps,” Fenris set the book aside, “I should just _show_ you, instead.”

 


	10. 10 [Hawke/Fenris]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set just before act three. marian loves to bake, and the family cookbook is filled with illustrations done by six year old bethany.

“Fenris, you picked the apple tarts last time.”

“Oh… I… yes. I enjoyed them.”

But Marian remembers the way his face had scrunched up in disgust, and the plate full of pastries that had quickly found its way out of the estate and at some party full of nobles. She says nothing; partly because she doesn’t enjoy arguing with Fenris, especially over something so petty, and partly because she catches his hesitation, the scowl that begins to form – a scowl that’s obviously meant more for him than for her – and she knows he’s hiding something from her, something he’s not yet comfortable admitting.

“So… I _know_ I said you could pick what I bring over,” Marian begins softly, “but what if I make a suggestion this week? I’ll make the tarts if you want, but maybe we could try something new? Like a…” Flipping through the pages, she searches for Carver’s favorite: a simple cinnamon twist bread. “ _Grandma Amell’s Cinnamon Twist,_ ” she reads. “It’s simple, but it’s always been a family favorite.”

Fenris stares at the little green scribble in the margins of the cookbook, which appears to be a lumpy bow-tie atop a platter. “It looks… appetizing,” he shrugs, throat tight. “I… promised Varric I would meet him. I should leave.”

He’s gone before Marian can respond, leaving her alone in the too-big kitchen. _What is it about this that makes him so uncomfortable?_ she wonders, eyes locked on the cookbook. Is it being alone with her in the estate? Is it that she’s cooking for him? Is it _her_?

Every week he shows up at exactly the same time, and every week she reminds him he doesn’t have to. She doesn’t _want_ him to, not if it makes him as uncomfortable as it seems to; but just like Fenris, Marian has something she can’t admit.

She cherishes what little time they spend together, even if it’s only to chose a recipe.

 


	11. Worry [Hawke/Fenris]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set in lothering, a few years after the end of da2.

“Milo, don’t chase the–” Marian broke off as Sadie tackled their new mabari. “Play _gentle_! What did I tell you about–”

She gave up as Milo joined them, taking a few wary steps before tripping and landing atop the copper-furred puppy. Sadie was on the ground beside them, the puppy giving her face a thorough licking.

But before Sadie had the chance to try and lick the mabari _back_ – it wouldn’t have been her first attempt, either – Fenris bent down and scooped her up in his arms. “The mabari is a war dog,” he told her, “and _not_ for cuddling.”

Suppressing a laugh, Marian picked Milo up off the mabari. “The puppy _is_ for cuddling,” she smiled, “just inside, not on the dirt.” She leaned forward to plant a kiss on Milo’s forehead. “Isn’t that right? We don’t want to get dirty, do we?”

Milo stuck his fingers in his mouth – which Marian promptly tugged free – and shook his head.

Sadie, on the other hand, leaned towards the ground in an attempt to break free from Fenris, whining about not being able to play with the puppy.

“It’s a _war dog_ ,” Fenris insisted, shooting an almost desperate look at Marian. “It could… what if it bites?”

The mabari made an excited circle, tripping over its own paws and tumbling to the ground. Marian couldn’t help but laugh. “I grew up with a mabari, Fenris,” she reminded him, “they’re remarkably well behaved around children.”

Fenris didn’t look convinced; he held Sadie even tighter, glaring down at the mabari.

“Honestly, I’m more concerned about the mabari than I am the twins,” Marian sighed, wondering how long it was going to take to convince Fenris. Pulling Milo’s fingers back out of his mouth, Marian asked slowly, “Can you play nice with the puppy?” When he nodded, she set him back on the ground.

With a quiet groan, Fenris asked Sadie, “You remember what we spoke about? Mabaris are dangerous. They–”

Marian shook her head when Fenris trailed off. “Sadie,” she continued, voice firm, “we do _not_ bite the puppy, or lick the puppy, or pull the puppy’s ears.”

She deflated, but agreed, and Fenris warily set her down. As the twins played with the mabari – this time doing little more than squatting near it and petting it with exaggerated care – Marian wrapped her arms around Fenris, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” she promised.

He said nothing, only pulling her tightly against him, and Marian knew he hadn’t taken his eyes off the twins. “I… worry about them,” he admitted finally.

“You think you’re worried now,” Marian joked, hoping to ease some of his tension. “Just wait until you catch Sadie with some farm boy from in town.”

Again, Fenris was quiet for several moments before he responded. “Why… _why_ would you say that?” he scoffed.

“Because it’s going to happen,” Marian sighed happily. “And I have a feeling you’re going to need ten years or so to get used to the idea. We can’t have you ripping out the heart of her first lover.”

“I wouldn’t – at least not…” Fenris grumbled something under his breath. “You’re not helping,” he informed her curtly.

“Maybe it’ll be a cute farm _girl_ ,” Marian amended, now thinking aloud. “That old barn near the inn? I caught Carver with a farm girl back there once.”

Fenris tensed. “ _Marian_ …”

“I’ll stop,” she promised, “if you won’t overreact the first time she brings someone home.”

“…we’ll see.”


	12. 12 [Trevelyan/Blackwall]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set during blackwall's reveal/judgment

It was selfish, acting as she had. Believing as she did, _forgiving_ as she did.

Learning about Blackwall – and Rainier – had been nothing but a relief for Aubrie, and it hadn’t been for his sake.

He’d lied. So had she.

He’d murdered. So had she.

He had a past he’d wanted to leave behind. _So did she._

And none of that mattered. Aubrie had once been no more than a young mage playing with fire – both literal and figurative – and committing herself to a life of ambition that ended more lives and careers than she dared to remember. And now, standing on a balcony overlooking Skyhold, gazing out across all the men and women who blindly followed her commands, Aubrie couldn’t even _consider_ condemning Rainier’s actions.

She knew she should – that she should be furious, question him and make him earn her trust again and force him to prove himself.

But he only thing on her mind – the only thing that had been on her mind since learning the truth – was the Calling. Now that she knew the darkspawn wouldn’t be taking him from her, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let the Orlesian nobles take him.

Aubrie descended the steps to the main hall slowly, hands clasped behind her back and eyes thoughtful. Cullen would object, she was certain, but Leliana would no doubt already have a solution in mind, and Josephine could easily clean up the political mess that was sure to follow.

“Josephine,” she called as she entered the ambassador’s office, “call a meeting. We have business to discuss.”

“Of course. You understand, this will be difficult.” Josephine shooed away the girl standing beside her desk, a young mage who frequented her office for advice. “Not to _do_ , but… the Inquisition’s reputation will suffer.”

“I don’t care,” Aubrie insisted, already headed for the war room. “I’ll drag him out of prison myself, if that’s what it takes.”

 

* * *

It wasn’t like Aubrie to leave the door to her quarters wide open.

Then again, it wasn’t like Aubrie to be holed up in her quarters in the middle of the day.

Then _again_ , it wasn’t a normal day.

Tucking the book he was carrying under his arm, Dorian cleared his throat and began up the stairs, calling out in a deliberately light voice, “Apparently, there are _three_ extremely powerful magisters currently in power that I had no idea about.” Scoffing, he added, “You know, for such an illustrious organization, you’d think the Inquisition would fill its library with books that are factually _correct_.”

Dorian rounded the corner into the Inquisitor’s bedroom, hesitating at the sight of Aubrie – normally so stoic and _certain_ – sitting helplessly at the edge of her bed, head in her hands, staring blankly at the rug on her floor.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, voice quieter. “I spoke to Josephine – she said the judgement would be _any minute now_. Whenever you’re ready, I assumed.”

“I don’t want to _judge_ him,” Aubrie sighed, voice hoarse. She wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath before admitting, “I just want this to be _over_.”

“Well, none of us are particularly excited about the turn of events.” He sat beside her, turning the book over in his hands and staring down at the leather bindings. “This… it won’t be easy. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She cracked a humorless smile, not taking her eyes from the floor. “Tell me what to do. That would be a _huge_ help.”

Dorian hesitated. “It’s admirable, what he did – trying to fix everything.”

“But is that enough? Does it justify…” Trailing off, Aubrie let out a long, frustrated sigh before sitting up and clasping her hands together. “Do you know what my first thought was? Bringing him back to Skyhold – that was impulse. But after that?” Dorian said nothing, so Aubrie continued. “Give him to the Wardens. He wants to make things better by being a Warden? Let him. The Orlesians will calm down because he’s not just walking free, and we prove to the Wardens that the Inquisition trusts and respects them, something they desperately need after everything that happened at Adamant.” She stared blankly out one of the windows. “It’s the best option for the Inquisition.”

“And that’s not what _you_ want?” Dorian guessed. 

“ _I_ want to let him walk free,” Aubrie admitted, voice filled with shame. “But… I can’t. It’s been… what, twenty years since my Harrowing? Twenty years since I’ve allowed myself to do what _I_ want rather than what’s best.”

“That’s certainly admir–”

Aubrie shook her head and cut him off with a sharp _No_. “It’s not. It wasn’t best for… for the greater good,” she explained, “it was best for _me_. Survival was my only priority for so long, and the best way to survive is to rise to the top. Apprentices are beaten and raped every day, and no one bats an eye if they go missing. If a First Enchanter goes missing, _someone_ will notice." 

Again, Dorian hesitated; he was hardly the person to offer comfort when it came to the southern Circles. Either way, he could hardly fault Aubrie – or anyone, for that matter – for wanting to escape the horrors he’d heard all about.

"Some mages use blood magic to gain influence, or power, but they always get caught, in the end,” Aubrie continued, opening up in a way that was uncharacteristic of her. “The templars are always looking for blood magic, and… with the right rumors, they’ll always find it even when it isn’t there. And that’s what I had to do,” she exclaimed angrily. “I watched an enchanter get beat to death because _I_ told the templars she was a blood mage, and when they threatened her with Tranquility, she fought for her life.” Aubrie paused, then added quietly, “They were going to promote an enchanter, and she had more experience than I did. There was no other way to ensure _I_ was the one they chose.”

They sat in silence after that – Aubrie nearly shaking at the weight of her confessions, and Dorian conflicted because the whole thing was uncomfortably reminiscent of his homeland.

“Just… be there. Please.”

“What is it that Varric said?” Dorian mused, tone deceptively light, searching for any bit of comfort he could provide. “ _Good men know when they’ve done wrong_? Blackwall has done a lot of good with the Wardens, and you’ve done a lot of good for the mages with the Inquisition. I’ll be there at the judgement,” he promised. “But keep that in mind.”

Aubrie nodded. As Dorian began to leave, she stopped him. “That book. You said something about it being incorrect? I’ll talk to Leliana and see if we can get either an updated copy or something with the correct information.”

“Back to business, then?” Dorian tossed the book onto the couch, knowing that the distraction of work was _exactly_ what Aubrie needed. “And, you know,” he continued, “half your books on the Imperium are… well, I’m not certain if they’re fiction or just Chantry _propaganda_ , but they’re far from accurate. I’ve got a list of all the errors – it’s practically a novel itself.”

Grabbing the book, Aubrie made her way over to her desk and scribbled down a note on a spare piece of paper. “Good. Send me the names of the books you want replaced. I’ll get on it right away. Oh, and,” she paused for a moment, looking up, “tell Josephine to get… everything ready. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Of course.” Dorian was positive that Aubrie’s sudden shift in mood was more theatrical than it was genuine, but that was who Aubrie _was_ ; she put on the face people needed to see, spoke words that people wanted to hear. _Fake it ‘till you make it_ – another line stolen from Varric. It _did_ work, to an extent; convince enough people that you’re tough and confident, and eventually you’d begin to believe it, too.

It was, after all, a concept Dorian was familiar with.

 


	13. Wanna Dance? [Trevelyan/Blackwall]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from tumblr: wanna dance?
> 
> set post-inquisition, at the little epilogue party.

Aubrie sighed. This was supposed to be a _party_ –  a chance to celebrate and relax – and yet she felt more overwhelmed and exhausted than Josephine _looked_.

There had been dancing and dining with nobles she barely knew, gaping expressions of awe from nobles to servants, and _endless_ requests for tales about dragons and Corypheus and everything in between. Aubrie had spent most of the evening with Blackwall, and had slipped away to catch up with Dorian and Sera and the rest of her friends, but mostly she’d been entertaining her guests, moving tirelessly from one conversation to the next.

It came as no surprise to anyone when she quietly slipped off to her quarters, reminding Josephine to _breathe_ and asking Cullen to tell absolutely no one where she was headed. When she made it to her room, she collapsed on the couch, too _exhausted_ to do anything but not quite _tired_ enough to sleep.

Blackwall was halfway up the stairs before Aubrie even heard his footsteps. “You didn’t think you could just sneak away like that, did you?”

Aubrie found herself laughing, despite her exhaustion. “I didn’t _sneak_ away. You looked like you were enjoying yourself with Sera and Varric.”

“I was,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t let you get away without that dance you promised me.”

Groaning, Aubrie apologized, “I _completely_ forgot. Between that Marcher who kept trying to duel me and that Orlesian who claimed–” She trailed off as Blackwall offered a hand to her.

“My lady, may I have this dance?”

Aubrie complied eagerly, taking his hand and pulling herself up despite her aching feet. They moved slowly, swaying to the barely-audible music from the main hall. Aubrie gave a contented sigh as realization washed over her. “No Corypheus, no war, no immediate threats to all of Thedas – we could just stay here like this.”

Blackwall paused their dancing or a moment, pressing a light kiss to Aubrie’s lips. “I think I would like that.”

 


	14. 14 [Trevelyan/Blackwall]

“You spend a lot of time down here in the stables.”

Working a knot out of the creature’s mane, Aubrie peered over the bog unicorn at Blackwall. “I do. It’s either that, or arguing with nobles and diplomats and merchants.” Her eyes flicked back down to the matted orange mane, fingers working slowly to avoid hurting the horse.

He chuckled. “I can’t blame you for avoiding that.”

“I also happen to like it here,” Aubrie admitted, giving up on the knotted mane and running her hand along the smooth, leathery skin of the creature. “Not just the horses, either – it’s quiet, there’s a heartwarming lack of rubble or building materials, and the company isn’t bad, either.”

Without looking up from his carving, Blackwall gave the barest smile. “I’m not certain if you’re talking about me, or that _thing_.”

“This _thing_ just needs a good home,” Aubrie countered. “It’s very sweet, unlike that mare you’ve taken a liking too.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Blackwall asked defensively, joining Aubrie in the outer part of the stables. He crossed his arms. “She’s a purebred courser, straight from Orlais.”

“Well, she’s _moody_ , for one,” she pointed out as she ran her fingers across the bog unicorn’s nose, careful to avoid the sword. “And stubborn.”

“We’ve gone out riding twice this week, and she hasn’t given me any trouble.”

The creature rubbed its head against Aubrie’s shoulder in response to her affection, knocking her off-balance and giving her an idea. “Prove it, then,” she challenged. “I was just about to take our newest steed out for a quick stroll through the mountains.”

He considered the question for a moment, running a hand experimentally over the bog unicorn’s neck. “I certainly could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon.”

 


	15. I Can't Do This [Inquisitor Amell AU]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prompt from tumblr: "I can't do this"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i have an au where my warden ends up as inquisitor, and since it's still technically my canon worldstate (kinda? mostly? up until dai?) i figured i'd post that stuff here too

She stands out at the edge of the village, recalling a time when Haven was a place filled with darkness and mystery and evil. 

It still is, she supposes, in some ways. 

The Breach looms over her, the Fade seeming to pour from its maw, trickling down into Thedas and slowly drowning them all. Olivia feels as if she’s drowning, already; her warden armor rests heavy on her shoulders, and the sword at her side serves more to anchor her in place than to aid her in battle. She’s been here before, feeling helpless and hapless and all manner of things that shouldn’t burden a leader – yet here she stands once more, ankle-deep in the snow and staring out into the forest pretending she has faith in herself.

The wind – the damned cold Fereldan wind – whistles in her ears, and she shivers against it. _Was it this freezing last time_ , she begins to wonder, then stops herself; if she gets caught up in those thoughts, she’ll lose herself in both doubts and memories. 

Because this isn’t _last time_ , it isn’t ten years ago and she isn’t the young mage still stunned speechless by the stars every night. She _chose_ this, she reminds herself, volunteered to assist in whatever negotiations she could just to stop the war against the mages. 

But that doesn’t make it fair.

One world-saving journey is far more than enough, and _two_ is comparable to a curse. When Olivia had been younger and bright-eyed and curious, maybe she could’ve handled this; but now – hardened but not quite jaded, optimistic but not quite hopeful – she isn’t sure how. 

_Why me,_  she wants to shout up to the sky, to cry out to the Maker and spit the words like poison at Him and His Bride. But as soon as the thought enters her mind, she pushes it away and recoils from it; _someone_ has to lead the burgeoning Inquisition and shoulder the weight and the responsibility, and it isn’t a fate that Olivia would wish on anyone else.

Everyone back in Haven seems to believe that she’s best suited to lead them, and even if she doesn’t agree, Olivia has no choice but to _try_.


End file.
